Arthur got up, took a sip of his whiskey, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He gestured for Valerian to follow him. "So over here we have various items of furniture in various conditions," he said, gesturing to the couch and a tattered looking armchair. He led the way to the edge of the main room so they could circle the perimeter.

"That table — bottles of various somethings, mostly laudanum," Art explained, with a handwave, "Which I wouldn't play around with if you haven't before." He was not in the mood to explain to Mariana Macnair that something bad had happened to her son, and anything more than a few drops of laudanum could be far too much.

"The larger bottles over there, with the silvery substance — oh, you do potions, you know those. Party potions," Art explained. He stepped over someone who seemed to be mostly conscious. "The back wall's got drinks — or, the back wall had drinks," Art said, frowning. He didn't see the bottle of whiskey anymore. Fuck.

"Well, I've got liquor upstairs, if you want any," Art said, with a magnanimous gesture. "And the woman in red is a prostitute. In case that wasn't obvious. Do you feel debauchery toured?"

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